


Bar None

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, bartender -- just save us both the trouble and bring me two, right? Thanks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bar None

"Hey, bartender -- just save us both the trouble and bring me two, right? Thanks."

Sebastian Moran leaned his elbows on the bar top, peering around him inside of the pub because scanning and waiting for shit to go wrong was a habit.

He needed to really get his fucking life together, but it was one of those Afghan time-warp sort of deals in his head. Tomorrow. He'd start tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow just never came. He was trying the whole normal job thing because his father had managed to find him one. No one wanted someone with even a questionable sort of discharge to be working for them, never mind if they were OF-5 or not. And it was his fucking fault that he'd lost his bleeding mind on post, it wasn't anyone else's fault.

It had all kept running in the back of his head long after his men had been shipped back in boxes, after McCray had been discharged for medical reasons. His new team hadn't been the same and the firefight was running a worn rut in his head until he had finally cracked. The worst part was that they'd taken him apart not so much because of what he'd done but because he was too high ranked to be out there with tactical units, and what the hell was he thinking? He was thinking that the best way to really understand what was doing on was to be close to his men, to stay in touch with the entire chain of command that answered to him.

It all came down to a supremely fucked up state of being.

"Sooo." Long, drawn-out sound. "You look deeply, horribly depressed. Not that you should consider that criticism of any sort, of course. I just find it interesting. After all, most of the people present here look disturbingly happy. It makes me want to do something horrible just to stop them being so drunkenly jovial."

He looked sideways because the voice was easy and lilting, a funny accent that he wanted to say was Irish in origin, but muddied, dragged through the dirt. Funny looking little fellow, dark hair, a dark suit, bruised-looking eyes, slicked back hair. Bastian lifted an eyebrow, and took a sip of his lager. "Fuck off."

"And that is precisely why I find you interesting. Who else here would be so forthright about it?" One slim hand raised, motioning for the barkeep. "But then, you're here to get drunk. Everyone else is here to get laid."

He looked over his shoulder to the crowd, and shrugged. If he wanted to get laid he'd go to a gay bar, buy one pint and be fucking done, none of that chatting up shit, no time wasted trying to pretend he cared to get to know someone. "And getting drunk doesn't include talking to bored businessmen, so like I said -- fuck off."

"Or what?" The little sod had small, even white teeth, and they were bared in something that anyone else might have taken for a smile. Might have. Bastian was familiar with that look, with something about it that made him twig to things being a bit odd. "Or you'll hit me? That doesn't seem quite fair, military man like you."

He took another swig of his lager, and closed his eyes tightly before he set the pint down. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He could tell. It was something in the look of his eyes. Fuck, he didn't have the tolerance for that shit just then, he didn't want to play games with anything.

"I might." That coy little flash was deeply annoying. "And maybe later we'll do that. Right now..." A business card flipped out of nowhere, slid across the bar to soak up the damp at the edge of his paper coaster. "I've been looking for a man of your talents for quite some time. Rumor has it that you might be interested. If you decide to ring...." Flirty looks, all teasing, just as though what he wanted was what everyone seemed to think he wanted. One hand lifted, pinky finger extended to his mouth, thumb held close to his ear, and he mouthed, _Call me_.

It wasn't quite right, though, and he wasn't sure why. He kept his eyes on the man, sliding a thumb under the edge of the business card to pry it off of the countertop. "You don't even know who I am."

That slow curl of mouth seemed to say so many things, most of them mocking. "Please, Colonel. As if there could be anything that I don't know or can't find out."

He felt the muscles between his shoulders go sharply tight, and he glanced down at the business card to pick out a name. "J. Moriarty. 'Make the changes you want to the world'?" He tilted his head slightly, the card held at an angle. "How do you know my name?"

That sarcastic smirk made him want to reach out and punch it off of his face. "Rumor is, perhaps, rather specific."

"Apparently." He kept holding the business card at that angle. "So you've got my attention now, Mr. Moriarty. What's your interest in a washed up OF-5?"

One hand waved vaguely as if that explained anything at all. "Washed up. A ridiculous term. What other people see and what I see are very different things, Colonel. I think you could be an outstanding asset to an organization like mine. Your... talents are without a doubt worth my effort to find out about you."

He took another sip of lager and leaned forward to slip the business card into his back pocket. "My talents. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not." The smug sound of that voice said that he knew more than Bastian was comfortable with him knowing. "When you get bored enough, I feel sure that you will call me."

Interesting. He leaned an elbow on the bar top, then gestured vaguely with his lager. "Does this mean you're finally going to stop talking and leave?"

"It means that I'll be expecting your call." Of course he would. He could just keep on expecting it, too. "Au revoir, " He gave a little wave of fingers, and then he walked into the crowd, as though he were so certain that he wouldn't be waiting for long.

Well. He was going to make the bastard wait at least a day before he satisfied his curiosity. It was easier to finish his lager and slip outside, leaving the bar and the strange wiry man behind him. He took three fast steps out into the darkness and started to look for somewhere else to go except home, because that was fucking unsatisfying.

It was better to walk home, get some of the cranky out of his system. It was maybe ridiculous to think he would manage it, but there it was. The light was shitty in fits and starts, but that was half of the enjoyment. Maybe someone would have the balls it took to jump him and he could get some of his inner pissy aggression out for the evening.

He was angry and bored, and under-challenged at work, and he missed the army. He missed a lot of things, he missed, he -- and he couldn't stop playing that fucking IED blast through his head, he couldn't not-think about the way his hearing went after every shot, no matter how much earpro he used or what silencer he used with what type of lubricant. It was all there, sitting behind his eyes in every moment where he wasn't distracting himself.

"I can help you with that."

There he was, leaning against a lamppost, light shining down on him as if it could somehow brighten who he was. Bastian was fairly certain that would be the biggest fucking lie imaginable.

"Don't think that I can't imagine exactly what's been going on, what you've been thinking. I can practically see the sparks behind your eyes, the way it's.... sssssearing you down to the bone."

He felt his jaw flex before he clenched it tight and pressed his tongue against his teeth because he wasn't going to get another charge brought down on him. Wasn't. He was going to pretend he had a fucking grip on himself and not touch the man, not do a fucking thing. "You need to either stop talking in riddles, or fuck off, little man."

"You're bored. You are far too intelligent to be stuck in an office counting beans. I can help you with that. Give you something to do that you would prefer to the idiotic day to day grind of logistics, shipping things in and out and up and down when you could be doing something useful. Something exciting. I can give you that."

He wanted it. He wanted that, he wanted to do something that mattered because he wasn't a pogue. That was what had driven him crazy as he'd made his way up the ranks, he didn't _want_ to be a staffer, he wasn't into the powerpoint wars for funding that had to be done, wasn't into administrative drills rather than battle drills. "What're you offering?"

The spread of Moriarty's arms were both invitation and explanation. "So many things. All the money you could want.. No need to be bored or angry or anything because oh, baby, I can use all of your talents. Each and every one. All you have to do is say yes."

He stepped in closer to the man. "What the hell am I saying yes to?" But all the money he could want, and his talents -- killing? Snapping? Every socially unwanted thing he'd ever fucking done during his career, the ones he'd managed to sweep under the table and the ones he hadn't?

There was just something about the sparkle of those eyes, the way he moved in a little too close, close enough that Bastian could seriously hurt him if he wanted to do it. The lack of fear was almost as delicious as it might have been if he had seemed afraid, and then he tilted up his head and breathed a response, the scents of mint and beer washing out with the words. "Honey, you are saying yes to the adventure of your life."

Unbelievable. Sebastian closed his eyes briefly, teeth still clenched. It was tempting; it was tempting and he wondered if he was going to have to say yes just to find out what it was, or if he could turn his back and head to his flat and go back to his other job and other life. "From a scrawny little businessman who's just a little drunk."

Drunk, but clearly sure of himself. "I should think it would be reassuring that I'm not very, very drunk, but to each his own."

Clearly the man was askew, but Sebastian closed his eyes. Worst case, he could say yes and then say no afterwards. "Yes." There weren't any rules about changing his mind after he got a hold of himself.

There was something about that smile, those teeth. "Oh, you are going to love this."

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if you told me what 'this' actually is." He was naturally patient, able and willing to out-wait the smartest target because he would, eventually, slip up and show himself. Except in this case, the man was showing himself right there, but not what his hand was, not what he was carrying on about. Just his bright wild eyes.

"Some things require seeing in order to believe. This might take a day or two. Perhaps, oh, you should pack a bag." A quick glance took him in, head to toe, and whatever he saw seemed to please him. "Bring extra pants. You can never have too many."

Madness. He exhaled, hands held in near fists in his pockets. "What might take a day or two, and where are we going that I need to pack a bag?"

"Here and there. Hither and yon. Perhaps even there and back again, in fact. You don't think I plan to show you all of my goodies at once, do you?" The freak shifted, cocked his head and a hip. "I am not some cheap tart."

The fuck. Sebastian stood there, running a hand over his face before he turned sharply on his heel. Fuck it, it was just time to go to his flat and call it a god damned night. That was what he got for chatting with madmen in bars.

"Ahhh, and you're thinking that I'll allow you to get away. Naughty, naughty, Colonel. I have the scent of you now." Moriarty's nostrils flared slightly, and he tilted his head again. "And I want you for my little enterprise. You will give in... eventually."

He flipped off the little wanker, already walking away. Christ, what a train wreck. He could've stayed in the army for that shit, people trying too hard to get discharged. "Then start making sense, and until then, fuck off!"

Fucking asshole. And then some, and he stormed his way down the sidewalk, pissed and wondering if the lunatic would follow him so that he could try and punch those small white teeth down his throat. Bastian honestly hoped he would, just so that he could get out his aggression.

He hated it when people thought he was fair game to fuck with -- he wasn't, and he was tired and he'd had enough shit go horribly wrong that he didn't need some raving maniac taking a liking to him, It was easier to wind his way to his flat, digging his keys out of his pocket and wishing he were drunker.

Crazy little fuck. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? Talking about his big plans, making ridiculous sexual advances, proving himself to be an ass more than anything else. Someone had probably paid him off to do it, who the fuck knew. His father, maybe. That would've been about right, though more creative than he generally gave the man credit for, and with good reason. He didn't think his father had ever had an original thought in his head that hadn't had to do with state relations and international affairs.

His key slid into the lock and turned, much too easily.

What the hell?

Reaching out, Bastian turned the knob and walked inside to.... nothing.

Lots and lots of nothing, and there was no way that anyone had cleaned out the entire goddamned apartment. No way, he had only been gone a couple of hours!

"Fuck! Fuck! What the -- fuck!" He took three stomping steps inside, and yanked his phone out of his pocket to, to call someone, to call the fucking police, he'd been not only robbed but completely fucking cleaned out while he'd just gone around the corner to get a fucking pint! There hadn't been time, hadn't been...

The sound of his mobile going off in his hand made him jump because it wasn't the usual ringtone. It was fucking ABBA, jingling in his pocket. _If you change your mind, I'm the first in line, honey I'm still free. Take a chance on me!_

What the fucking fucking fuck.

His first instinct was to throw it across the vastly empty room, but it was the only thing he had that was his just then. He stood staring at it, and then finally answered, heartbeat thrumming hard in his chest.

_"Did I forget to mention that I might possibly have decided that you would say yes before you actually had? My bad."_ Smartass little motherfucker. Bastian was going to strangle him then use the nearest sharp object until he bled out, and then he might just piss into the gouged out holes where those beady black eyes currently resided.

And that was if he were lucky.

"What the hell is going on? What, what the fucking fuck! My stuff is gone! You _stole_ my apartment!" At least he had a name for the crazy fucking asshole, but it didn't make Sebastian feel any better as he shut the door and turned to head back out down the narrow hallway to the stairs.

_"Forgive me, baby. You know I lo~ove you."_ Both eyes. Pissing right in them. Before he was dead. _"I was just so sure that you would enjoy what I'm offering you. The money is amazing, and unh. I have so many uses for your talents."_

Unh. Sebastian ran a hand back through his hair, moving down the stairs quickly, feet on the edge of every step. He was willing to swear the man had just made a sex noise at him. "How amazing are we talking?"

That laugh was dark and hot and honestly. He couldn't be that horny. _"Honey. I already told you that you would need extra pants. Unless you just want to go without them. That would be just fine with me."_

"Someone stole my fucking pants, and everything else in the fucking flat!" He snapped, snarled it, but how the hell was he supposed to carry on with this, with anything, when everything was gone.

_"Whooopsie. Maybe I should have asked first. Oh, wait. I did!"_ The way he laughed was annoying as hell, and a trill of noise sounded loudly in his ear. _"I'll see you at that address, hm?"_

"What address? Fuck, _fuck_!" He kicked the bannister hard when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and it didn't matter because the shithead had hung up. It left Sebastian staring at his phone in a rage, because what address? Except now there was a text, so that had to be it. What the hell was going on?

He was going to kill the everloving fucking shit out of the crazy motherfucker once he got hold of his guns. Just thinking about it warmed him somewhere that might be the cockles of his heart, and he flipped to the message on his phone with a flick of thumb and a code.

It was somewhere in east hell. Of course it would be, because nothing about this could be easy, there wasn't any easy no about it. Mostly there was just a low grinding clench of his teeth and a murderous determination that blotted out everything else for him.

He had an address to get to, and a car to get there with -- and maybe if he was lucky, some of his shit would be at the other end of the trip. He took a moment with his phone and the GPS to work out where he was headed, and then started off into the dark.


End file.
